


The Dawn Will Break Me

by j_y__peach



Series: However Long The Night, The Dawn Will Break Me [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Imaginary Friends, M/M, Psychological Drama, Romance, Season 1, magic bullet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_y__peach/pseuds/j_y__peach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the everything that has happened, Stiles is trying to pick up the pieces.  School has started, Scott has become a werewolf, and Derek Hale has turned out to be a real person.  The world keeps turning and Stiles is left to choose: unravel the mystery while unravelling himself or keep quiet and never know if the real Derek Hale is the one he's known all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawn Will Break Me

**Author's Note:**

> Please read Part 1 of this series before continuing. This series is based on [THIS](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2n-Ab5wSsCM) video. The second part of a two part series. Trigger warning for therapy. 
> 
> A playlist that corresponds with the quotes used in this piece can be found [HERE](http://8tracks.com/morganamoony/the-dawn-will-break-me).

It seemed like the daze had returned to Stiles’ eyes. His feet were hovering off the ground again. His spirits lifted. His smile returned. And the feeling went so deep that Stiles couldn’t even breathe sometimes. All because of Derek and his inevitable realness. He was _real._ He wasn’t a delusion. He wasn’t something that Stiles could hide or keep secret anymore because he was his own person. 

Seeing Derek again ignited Stiles’ thirst for more. So he hunted all night. Hunted down every record he could get of Derek Hale’s existence. The newspaper articles on the varsity baseball championship Beacon Hills High School had won back when Derek was their MVP. The public preserve maps that landmarked the house in the woods. The certificates for his family’s losses in the fire.

Then, somewhere deep in the night, research on Derek lead to research on werewolves. There was little Stiles could find that linked the two together, but what he found was shocking. The same things he had been seeing Scott do on the field all week were outlined again and again. No matter the culture or the time period. The similarities kept consistently coming up.

It wasn’t till Tuesday afternoon that Stiles was sure. Till he finally sat Scott down and told him. Scott was so dismissive and Stiles felt all the same feeling well up inside of him. The feeling of nobody believing you. And Scott threw him up against the wall and Stiles had a moment where he thought if Scott killed him, he’d be fine with it. Then Scott walked out and it was almost like the last person that trusted him was walking out. 

Because Stiles was just the boy who cried wolf. 

But even that couldn’t diminish this unyielding hope in his chest. This feeling that everything was fated to work out. It gripped him so tight that he could barely allow the oxygen to get to his brain. And the perpetual dizziness was beginning to feel more like another addiction.

 

The party that night was in full swing. Stiles watched Scott bring Allison in. Watched the hearts in their eyes as they couldn’t stop looking at each other. And a part of Stiles was proud and happy but another was so jealous. Deep down he wished that he, in some parallel universe, could have been experiencing some version of that. 

He was coming out of the bathroom when he saw him again. Derek’s dark figure escape between groups of friends, moving determined and smooth through the crowd. Stiles was immediately fixated.

“What is he…” Stiles whispered and rubbed a hand over his hair. “Not here,” he murmured and his chest gave out a little.

Stiles quickly snaked through the partygoers towards Derek, keeping close to the wall. He got as close as he could and managed to twist the door of a spare bedroom open. He grabbed Derek’s wrist and pulled him inside before the man could realize what was going on.

Stiles quickly shut the door behind him as Derek twisted his wrist away from the boy. The noise and the chaos escaped them both and the party immediately felt so distant. And Stiles felt so isolated with Derek. He just wanted to forget everything that wasn’t him. He had little time to relish in that feeling though.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ jacket lapels and forced him against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

And Stiles could smell him and feel his heat and his touch so much so that it was a bit over whelming. Stiles’ lips hung open, but no words came out. His eyes flickered to Derek’s too close mouth.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?” Derek repeated. Just getting more hostile and more impatient by the second.

Stiles’ eyes drew back up to Derek’s. The green even more vivid than he remembered. “What are you doing back?” he sputtered out. “In Beacon Hills. What are you doing here?”

Derek released Stiles and stepped back. 

Stiles immediately missed Derek’s weight against him.

“Why should I tell you?” he hissed.

“Because I know everything about you,” Stiles responded calmly.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Oh, give me a break.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “You are Derek Hale. You haven’t been back in Beacon Hills since your family burned to death in a fire almost a decade ago. You still visit the house in the woods. You played on the baseball team. You have a younger sister named Laura. Shall I go on?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Derek shook his head. Dismissing everything Stiles was saying. Everyone was always dismissing him.

“You are also a freaking werewolf. Your eyes turn blue when you change. You can control it though unlike Scott. Not sure why yet. It ran in your family. And whatever reason you _are_ here, it definitely has got something to do with that body they found in the woods.”

Derek froze. “Who are you?”

Stiles shook his head. A laugh fell out of his quivering lips but he felt more like crying. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Derek huffed. “Are you one of the hunters? Like that brunette tramp that Scott is canoodling with? Huh?”

Stiles’ head pounded with new information to process but he repressed the urge and took a step forward. “No,” he said softly. “No. I want to help.”

“I don’t need help,” Derek seethed. “I need you to stay out of my way.” And he lurched forward, forcing Stiles away from the door and moving down the hallway. He was out of Stiles’ presence so quickly that the boy was left shaking.

“Don’t lose it,” he whispered to himself. He took a deep breath, feeling the tears fight against his closed lids. “All that matters is that he’s here.”

And he let himself believe that that was enough. Even though deep inside he knew he needed more.

 

At this stage of discovery, anything was likely to shake Stiles. The influx of information was so relentless that Stiles debated locking himself in his room until everyone had figured their shit out. No, it didn’t take a lot to shake Stiles, but what did was important. It was what Scott had said as Stiles had tried to pound down his door after the party. When Stiles wanted to help. He was beginning to realize this inflated sense of purpose and knowledge was going to his head. Maybe he couldn’t help Scott as much as he wanted to. As much as he convinced himself that he was an old pro at this supernatural junk, already. Knowing about werewolves for a whole two months now. Some expert.

In between huffs and grunts of Scott trying to fight off the oncoming full moon shift, he said it. He told Stiles that Derek killed the girl in the woods.

And how was Stiles supposed to interpret that? That huge blow to his internal hope. A wrench thrown into the whole fated idea. The idea that this Derek was the same one from before. Because the Derek from before wasn’t a killer. He couldn’t have been. Could he? Stiles head pounded when he got home that night. He just wanted his Derek back. 

Stiles was losing faith in himself by the second. Those feelings that everything would work out seemed to slip through his fingers. So Stiles made a promise to himself. That he wouldn’t associate them anymore. Imaginary Derek and real Derek. He would stop assuming they were the same person. Because he couldn’t afford to get hurt twice. Not at this stage of the game. 

But despite the forced separation in his head, he couldn’t _not_ miss him. He tried so hard. Long weekend nights, watching that heavy waning moon from his window and wishing that, like the consistency of the moon’s phases, this was so much simpler. That his Derek was on the other side waiting for him. Because he _knew_ that his Derek was out there somewhere. Even if it wasn’t in this world. And he just wanted him back so badly. 

There was no turning back now. After the events of the summer had happened. After everything seemed to be getting back to normal with his dad. Back to as normal as possible with Scott. Stiles couldn’t just give all that up for this fantasy he wanted to live out in his head. He had had his chance that summer and had screwed it all up. Now it was time to deal with this season. With this problem. With this Derek. This killer. As much as it pained him.

 

Ms. Morrell’s office was the same shade of drab. Only this time it was slightly brightened by the sunrise in the East. Their appointment during Stiles’ free period on Wednesday morning. Stiles’ morning had already took a turn for the bizarre when he picked up a shirtless, shoeless Scott from the woods that morning. It hurt to see his friend so broken up. About Allison, about the hunters, and also about being a werewolf. But Stiles tried to be the strong one. Tried to reassure him that it would be okay. Even if he wasn’t sure it was. 

“So,” Ms. Morrell smiled but she looked tired. Like she too hadn’t quite gotten used to this school schedule yet. Stiles took note of the generic jade green mug on her desk that was emitting bouts of artistic steam into the air. “Where were we the last time we talked?”

“Um,” it pained Stiles’ to recall. “I hurt myself.”

“Ah,” Morrell flipped the pages in her legal pad. “And you said you were in love with Derek. Am I right?” Her smile on the verge of mocking.

Stiles hadn’t missed it while he was gone. “Right,” he said cynically.

“And how did that go?” Morrell nodded.

Stiles sighed. “Can you at least fake empathy? I mean god damn it.”

Morrell looked at him seriously but her tone was rimmed with sarcasm when she spoke. “Stiles. It’s not my job to judge character or anything but something tells me you’d hate me just as much if I faked my emotions than if I didn’t have them at all.”

Stiles sighed again because she was right. “It didn’t go well. Obviously. If you couldn’t tell by the car crash and the psych ward stay. Lucky for you, I’m on my meds now. The prescribed dosage, that is.”

She smiled earnestly at that, “and how is that going?”

“Well,” Stiles thought. “I don’t see any delusions anymore. So I guess it’s working.”

“So,” Morrell stared him down. “No more Derek.”

There was still that part of Stiles that wanted to hide everything. Not like the first Stiles. Not the one that aired every thought and quirk he had. Not that naïve. But also not like the Stiles from the hospital. All closed lip and scared to say anything that could be held against him. 

But this was the truth, right? Not just subjective perceptions but actual, tangible realities. Well… maybe he could leave out the murdered girl in the woods part though. Because Stiles hadn’t quite processed that.

“Derek …Hale is back,” Stiles finally said.

Morrell vision shifted and she looked straight on through him. Like she was blocking him out entirely.

“But,” Stiles quickly remedied. “Not the delusion version. Some other kind. He’s a real person.”

Morrell didn’t look shocked. Or curious. Or confused. “What are you talking about, Stiles?” she said with no attitude in her voice. Nothing that gave away what she was thinking.

Stiles didn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t something so stern. “I mean, the actual Derek Hale is back in Beacon Hills. And I’ve already met him. Scott’s met him too.”

Morrell’s whole body froze and her eyes flashed. There were shades of realization in her dark brown irises but they fused into something darker and something deeper. Something like fury. “Stiles,” she said quickly and sharply, rising from her office chair. “I’m sorry but I just realized I have someone I need to meet with.” She reached for her coat in the corner and then her purse by her feet.

“What?” Stiles sat forward. “But I still have over a half hour left.”

“I must have double booked,” she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you next week.” And just like that she was out her office door, the clicking of her heels echoing down the hallway.

And Stiles was left sitting there. And for the first time, he was the one confused.

 

That night, Stiles found himself at the house in woods. He regretted coming immediately but not didn’t turn back around towards his Jeep. He was frustrated beyond belief. His hands balled into fists at his sides.

It had been a tough afternoon that lead to a night on fire. What with having to fake shock when Scott told Stiles that Allison’s dad was the hunter who had tried to kill him the night before. What with almost getting murdered by his best friend in the locker room. Luckily, he extinguished the situation before if got out of hand. Then seeing Derek attack Scott in his room. Powerless on the other side of the webcam, Stiles watched Derek pin Scott against the wall. Watched him threaten Scott not to play in the lacrosse game. And Stiles hadn’t known how to respond but with anger. So he just let it all burn.

“Derek,” he shouted to the descript estate. “Get out here right now!”

The door opened with a high-pitched creak but Derek didn’t step through. Stiles cursed under his breath, seeing the vapor curl from his lips in the chilly autumn night air. He marched up to the house and came in. The way it hadn’t changed since the last time made his stomach churn.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered into the darkness, now scared. And he immediately felt a hand cover his mouth. He screamed against it.

“Stop shouting,” said Derek’s voice in his ear and the werewolf spun him around to face him, hands gripping roughly on Stiles’ shoulders. He looked just the same as ever. Livid. “What are you doing here?” he bit out.

Stiles shook off his touch and took a few steps back, shaking the notion that this Derek was a killer. Stiles kept trying to find reason in his own frivolous actions. “You need to stay away from Scott.” Loyalty, he affirmed to himself. Loyalty over dying at the hands of this man. This sham of someone he once knew so well.

Derek huffed out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He rolled his eyes, carelessly.

“No,” Stiles affirmed. “I’m not. You can’t just walk into Scott’s life, bite him, and then think you control everything he does. He had a life before you came back here, you know.”

“And now he has a new life,” Derek rushed, taking a step forward. “And I think you just can’t accept that you don’t fit into it anymore. He has responsibilities now. He needs me. More than he needs you. And he really needs to not play in that game on Saturday.”

Stiles seethed. “No,” he stomped his foot, impatiently. “You can’t do that. You can’t decide what he does and doesn’t do.”

Derek fumed, “when it effects my well being, I sure can. If he changes out on the field, the hunters will know what he is. They will murder him. And then guess who is left defenseless?”

Stiles chokes out a sarcastic laugh, “So that’s what this is about? You don’t want to Scott to play because then you’ll be in the line of fire? What a great leader you are. So quick to sacrifice.”

Derek grabbed the front of Stiles’ shirt and dragged him forward till their faces were close. “Don’t you dare talk to me about sacrifice.”

And all Stiles could do to respond was trying to regulate his breaths.

Derek let go and backed away. “Get out of here.”

Stiles felt his hands start to shake. “Just let me ask you one thing,” Stiles said quietly. “How do I help Scott control his shifts?”

Derek took a seat against the staircase and looking away. “You. Don’t. That’s _my_ job. The actual full-time werewolf.”

Stiles sighed, nervously. “So there is nothing I can do to help?”

Derek looked up at him. “As I told you before,” he said. “Stay out of the way.” And something in his voice wasn’t as harsh as all the words they’d shared up till then. Something was calming and soft and simple. So, so simple. And it was like Stiles was hearing Derek words say one thing and his voice saying something so much more complex. 

Stiles’ chest heaved and he struggled for a breath.

Derek’s eyes didn’t move from his as the werewolf crossed the room towards the door. “I’m leaving and I don’t want you here when I get back.” And again, he didn’t sound angry. He sounded almost pained. And then, with another whine from the front door, he was gone again.

 

Stiles didn’t have to wait long to see Derek again. Hell, it seemed like he never had to wait. That was one of the fundamental differences between the old Derek and this real one. The old Derek wouldn’t be around for days. And Stiles spent all of that time wanting him back. Singing himself to sleep while Derek was still his favorite melody. But now, the down time between this Derek’s appearances was merely hours most of the time. And Stiles never had fully processed the last encounter by the time a new one was imminent. 

The morning after going out to the woods to see him, Stiles spotted Derek in the hallway at school. Stiles was running late to chemistry, speed walking down the empty hallway. He turned the corner and saw Derek coming towards him. His feet stopped cold.

Derek stopped too. His eyes drawing up to Stiles’. For a moment, his irises seemed to spark a darker shade of green and his shoulders drew up a little. He stopped in his tracks. They had this moment of detecting each others’ presences but not inducing anything. But, of course, the moment decayed before they could realize it. And Derek, with a huff, turned on his heel and started back down the hall towards the main entrance. 

“Derek,” Stiles called out. 

The werewolf didn’t respond. Only continued down the hall.

Stiles ran after him. “Wait. Stop,” he demanded, pulling at his arm.

Derek finally stopped, yanking his arm back forcefully. “Are you ever gonna stop annoying me?”

Stiles blinked. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”

Derek stepped into his space. “To save your own life.”

“And now we have progressed to death threats? This relationship is sure escalating quickly.”

Derek stepped back with a sigh. “What do you want, you little pest?” he said through his teeth.

“And pet names too?” he laughed. “Little ironic considering _you’re_ the dog here.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and turned, storming away from Stiles.

“You know I have a name!” Stiles called to him. “It’s Stiles. Stiles Stilinksi. And Stiles wants to know what the hell you are doing in the school.”

“I was just returning something,” Derek yelled over his shoulder.

Stiles followed behind him. “Your devotion to your work is inspiring and all but-“

“Don’t you have class or something?” Derek asked.

Stiles stopped short. “Oh. Right,” he blinked before yelling, “Yeah. We will pick this up later.” 

 

Events came and keep coming. All so fast. All too much. And Stiles just wished he could stop this all for at least a day. At least an hour. But Scott kept calling him. Kept feeding him new information till he couldn’t do anything but act normal. Act sane. Act like a best friend.

So he found himself coming home in a haze. The dirt under his fingernails, the ringing of the hospital machines in his ears, the picture in his head of the dead wolf. No, the dead girl staring back at him. Feeling like he could still smell her. Like she was everywhere. It wasn’t suppose to be this real. Derek wasn’t suppose to be this real.

But he was and he was a killer and Stiles was beyond wrecked. Cause all he wanted, all he ever wanted was for Derek Hale to be the one he remembered from the summer. And this was just something so concrete that told Stiles that everything was hopeless. That this was no form of destiny. Stiles was so flawed. So right. Swore he had been right all along.

He was so sad and angry and as he wiped his muddy shoes on the welcome mat, something in him switched. He walked to the dining room and saw his dad sitting around the table with the usual sprawl of evidence. A map of the preserve laid out with markings for possible burial sites. All of them wrong.

“Where have you been?” the Sheriff asked with a raised eyebrow, looking his son up and down.

“We found it,” Stiles felt himself say. And everything inside of him felt still for a second.

The Sheriff wasn’t catching up quick enough. “You found wh-“

“We found the body,” Stiles bellowed. “Me and Scott found it. On accident.”

His dad rose from his seat quickly. He put his hands on either side of Stiles’ face. “Are you sure?”

Stiles winced. “Dad,” he pulled away. “Do I look sure?”

His father gave him a bit of space, blinking. “Stiles,” he said calmly. “Show me where it is.”

Stiles looked onto the map. His eyes moved straight to the Hale property. His hand raised, a single finger pointing out. Shaking so fiercely. He let it land on the map at the landmark.

The Sheriff leaned over. “The old Hale lot?”

Stiles pulled away quickly and nodded. He felt five again. He felt like he was telling on a classmate. Except that was bruises and apple juice. This was life and death. Well, life and death and werewolves.

“It’s on the east side of the house. You’ll see where the soil is fresh,” Stiles’ voice lacked everything it ever had. Everything he had wasted on all the juvenile things leading up to this.

The Sheriff didn’t speak for a while. He just stared at the map. 

“Stiles,” he finally spoke. Slowly. Clearly. “I want you to go up to your room and go to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

And Stiles had. The longest day of his life. From seeing Derek. From having that unexplainable pull to him. The one that gave him hope. To seeing it all demolished in the form of a half a corpse outside Derek’s house.

He nodded to his father and turned to climb the steps to his room. Once inside, he shut the door. Basking in the darkness. He collapsed onto his bed and curled up against the stale coldness of the empty room. “Please don’t do this to me,” Stiles whispered to the darkness. “Please make this an accident. Please keep this from being so real.”

He didn’t know who the message was for. The old Derek? The new one? Some deity Stiles couldn’t place. Maybe that was the problem. Derek was becoming his god. This beacon of everything right. And gods weren’t always what was right. Not always the light. Sometimes they were the dark too. And Stiles hadn’t expected that. Never could have expected that.

 

Stiles didn’t know why he bothered the next morning after calling Scott and telling him to come out to the woods with him. After he had woken up in the same clothes from yesterday. He quickly showered the dirt off of him, changed, and got in his jeep, knowing exactly where he was going. He kept inwardly blaming Scott. Kept saying to himself that it was his loyalty to his friend that kept dragging him back into this werewolf mess. But that couldn’t cover the half of it. 

He and Scott pulled up to the Hale house. Cops and dogs and forensics teams sweeping over every detail on the property.

He sees Derek coming out of his house in the hands of a deputy. Stiles’ father trailing behind. And this is not how Stiles expected them to make first impressions.

Derek looks too perfect to be a murder. But maybe that’s just the werewolf showing. Or maybe that’s one of those sociopath murderer traits. They act all charismatic and friendly so they can get to you. Move through you.

But Derek wasn’t charismatic and friendly. He was stoic and harsh and kept everything he thought and felt behind his eyes and dealt with people on a need be basis. Stiles was never involved in that. He was never needed. At least, not this time around.

They ducked Derek’s head into the back of the patrol car and shut the door, walking off towards the burial site to help the forensics guys who were still taking pictures of the remains.

Stiles snuck around the corner towards the car. Waiting for them all to turn their backs at the right angle before he clamored into the passenger seat. Knees against the back and a hand against the grate that separated them. 

“Okay. Just so you know, I’m not afraid of you,” Stiles had decided to start out with. Trying to sound so strong but knowing it was all a lie and a front.

Derek looked up and Stiles saw the breath catch in him. Saw him tense up. And the look in his eyes called Stiles out on his own lie.

“Okay, maybe I am. Doesn’t matter,” he tried to wave it off, but his heart wouldn’t stop racing. “I just want to know something. The girl you killed? She was a werewolf. She was a different kind, wasn’t she?”

Derek’s eyes didn’t answer anything. They just said the same message forward and backward. ‘Stay out of the way.’

Stiles ignored it. “I mean she could turn herself into an actual wolf and I know Scott can’t do that. Is that why you killed her?” And Stiles just wanted to know. Just wanted him to say it. That he killed her. That he did it and it was something that had to happen and he’s not the bad guy. That he never was the bad guy.

But of course, Stiles didn’t write the script. If he did they’d be so much closer. He couldn’t predict what Derek said or did. He never could. “Why are you so worried about me when it’s your friend that’s the problem?” Derek craned his head towards where Scott stood against the blue Jeep. “When he shifts on the field, what do you think they’re gonna do? Huh? Just keep cheering him on?”

Stiles tried to imagine that. Tried to imagine everything going right like a cheesy 80’s teen movie. With a musical number to boot. Yeah, he couldn’t say it was likely. 

“I can’t stop him from playing but you can,” he said. And Stiles felt like he was being bestowed with a responsibility he didn’t want. One he never wanted.

Derek leaned in close, his eyes serious and surveying everything about Stiles. Seeing right through him. “And trust me. You’ll want to.”

And Stiles couldn’t move or breath and all he felt was the tug at the back of his jacket pulling him out of into reality. Or back into reality. Because whenever he was with any form of Derek, it felt like fiction. 

 

Stiles was all bitten nails and shaky legs all day. Somewhere along the line, he had begun to know the weight of everything around him. It wasn’t about him anymore. It wasn’t even about Derek anymore really. It was about danger. It was about nightmares coming true.

Scott had said it before running off into the woods. Stiles was enjoying this werewolf thing too much. And Stiles couldn’t help but pull over on his lonely drive home. Pull over just to let a few sobs quake out of him. Because for once, Scott was so right. 

Scott was cursed and he couldn’t escape the bite. He couldn’t out run it. But Stiles chased it. So easily. And the idea that this was meant for him was so addictive.

But maybe he wasn’t meant for it. He certainly wasn’t the one who got bit. He wasn’t the one involved in the hunters’ scandal. He wasn’t directly involved with Derek even. Stiles felt himself slowly coming to these terms. Staring to learn that this whole werewolf thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

He was intervening on something that had nothing to do with him. Rewriting the myth to include himself. And the idea that he wasn’t meant for anything, anything but being alone, was the scariest part and perhaps why he kept getting involved.

Derek knew this fact more than anyone. His message always the same. Stay out of this. All of this. All of Derek.

But there was nothing Stiles’ wanted more than to be intertwined with this fairytale forever. 

The game went off. Even when Stiles urged Scott not to play. He was beginning to feel that familiar feeling of anxiety creep up on him. This feeling that Murphy’s Law would always prevail. And it kept holding true. Scott was left staggering off the field in the last moments of the game, shifting too quickly and too publicly. Stiles tried to follow but his dad caught his attention. Standing behind the bleachers, a finger to one ear and a phone to the other. His eyes looking broken. Stiles recognized the façade of bad news. He had memorized every aspect of it.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles approached when his father had hung up.

The Sheriff sighed. “Just work stuff. Don’t worry about it,” he waved off.

“Dad,” Stiles darkened.

His father took a moment. “Lab reports found wolf hair on the upper half of the Hale girl. Looks like whatever happened to her wasn’t at the hands of human. Derek Hale is being processed and released as we speak.”

“Wait,” Stiles froze. “Hale girl?”

His dad nodded solemnly. “We ID’ed the body earlier. It’s Derek Hale’s sister, Laura.”

Stiles’ mouth hung open a moment before he took off running for the locker room. Busting in on Scott and Allison wasn’t as shocking as the other things he had on his mind. But it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt a little. He was happy for them. Truly. But while Allison seemed to ground Scott throughout his chaos, Derek did nothing but keep Stiles’ feet of the ground. Nothing but perpetuate the delusions he was burying himself under. Stiles’ didn’t want to admit what that meant. That maybe he wasn’t meant to be with Derek.

He told Scott the news. He was shocked. They both were. 

Stiles took off again. His jeep flew down the road to the preserve. Driving too fast and too distracted till he got to the Hale property. He slammed the car door hard and the sound bounced between the edges of the forest.

He charged up the steps and into the house. Derek sat on the steps, waiting and looking up at Stiles when he came in.

Stiles wanted to speak. He wanted to say everything going on. He wanted to admit the delusions and confess all these emotions and get this weight off his chest, but he knew he couldn’t. Even worse, he knew it wouldn’t matter.

Derek broke the silence, vapor rising from his mouth as he spoke. “Why did you come?”

Stiles took in a shaky breath. “You know why.” 

Derek rose from the steps and paced towards Stiles. “So let me make sure I’m getting all this. You are convinced I killed my sister, that I’m a murder, you have me arrested by your father, and yet you keep coming here alone.”

Stiles’ hands began to shake in the cold. “I know you won’t hurt me,” he said, not as confidently as he should have.

“And how do you know that? Oh right. You know everything about me,” Derek half-mocked.

Stiles let his eyes close for a moment before looking back up to him. “I just know, okay?” 

Derek shook his head and looked away. “I don’t understand why you trust me,” he said quietly.

Stiles had no response to that. He didn’t know either. This man was only a sham of the old one, right? He only knew that if Derek threw himself into the lion’s den, Stiles would follow him in.

“So is that all you wanted?” Derek came closer to him. “Just to try and guilt me about my sister?”

Stiles’ hands flew to his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted, regretting everything. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”

Derek sighed. “Stiles,” he said.

Stiles stopped everything, looking up to Derek and realizing it was the first time he had ever heard this Derek say his name. And it still sounded the same. Still sounded tragic and pleading and Stiles was consumed by the way it rolled around Derek’s mouth. 

Derek looked at him as stoic as ever, but his eyes showed a distance that was more than physical. “Go home,” he said. 

And even though it wasn’t harsh or intimidating, Stiles still knew it was an order. He gave a small nod. “I’ll…” he tried to keep face. “I’ll see you around.”

 

Stiles bided time away from Derek and tried to manipulate Scott to stay away too. Said that he could help Scott more than Derek could (lie), said he didn’t need Derek (lie), said that Derek was dangerous (possible lie). Stiles was just getting through to him when the bus incident happened. And Scott dreaming it was too coincidental to be an accident. They both knew that. 

So, again, Stiles’ argument lost against Derek’s experience. As it should. Though, Stiles would have never admitted that. Scott went crawling back to Derek’s promises of control and ease and a better life. But Stiles was the one who had to take him back to the bus, begrudgingly. The one that had to help him escape when he almost got caught. The one who had to try to help him piece together all the facts. And the facts lead to the same places as they always had seemed to. Derek was dangerous. Derek wanted Scott. Derek was a killer. Stiles almost wondered if it was Derek trying to prove how bad he truly was. Trying to prove that Stiles should stay away.

Despite all of these factors, Stiles still happened to remember what day it is. Monday. And so, again, he found himself staring at the wall of Morrell’s office, wishing he was anywhere but there.

“So how have you been, Stiles?”

“Why did you run out of the last meeting?” he asked, bluntly.

Morrell sat back in her chair, immediately crossing her arms over her chest. “And what makes you think you deserve to know?”

Stiles scoffed. “Don’t act like I’m stupid. I know it had something to do with me. Something to do with Derek Hale. Where did you go?”

Morrell huffed with a flip of her hair. “Stiles,” she started. “If you think that I’ll ever tell you, you really are as crazy as you project.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine, then,” he sneered. “I have been fan-freaking-tastic. Thank you for asking.” 

Morrell didn’t respond at all but instead just gave him her best bitch face. Which, for the record, was a pretty damn good one.

Stiles broke after a few moments. His words so quick, they seemed to slur together. “Scott and I are the ones who got Derek Hale arrested. Despite that fact, I may or may not be stalking him.”

“You are keeping up with the prescription?” Morrell asked.

Stiles’ shoulders dropped in impatience. “Yes. Yes. Twice a day. No more, no less.”

Morrell smiled to herself before continuing. “Why are you stalking him?” she asked.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t know. Scott is off having a life and making first line and getting a girlfriend. What am I suppose to be doing?”

“And you don’t think it has anything to do with the Derek from your delusions?” she raised her eyebrows, as if the answer was clear.

Stiles held his breath for a couple moments. “Okay. Yes. Maybe. But can you blame me?”

“Well, that’s not my place,” Morrell shrugged.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Stiles retorted under his breath.

Morrell shot him a glare before going on. “No,” she affirmed. “I don’t blame you for being curious. But I don’t exactly think its wise.”

“Of course its not wise,” Stiles agreed. “But what else am I suppose to do when my imaginary friend suddenly turns out to be real?”

“Separate yourself from him. He wasn’t good for you before. What makes you think he’ll be good for you now?”

“So does that mean you believe that it’s the same person?” Stiles sat forward eagerly, as if he had caught her in the act of doing something she shouldn’t. She was believing. And that wasn’t allowed.

Morrell’s face went flat. “I’m not answering that. Why aren’t you staying away from Derek Hale?” 

“You’re no fun,” Stiles shook his head. “And okay. Yes. Ideally, that is what I would be doing,” he settled. “But in reality, the last thing I want is separation. I mean, I just have _got_ to find out for myself why this is happening. Is he the same one from before? Is he exactly like how I imagined he was? You’ve got to admit. There is just too much coincidence here to ignore it and move on.”

Morrell put her elbows on her desk and held her head in her hands, thinking hard. “Maybe so,” she noted. “But that doesn’t mean you should be going out of your way to see him.”

Stiles tilted his head, trying to piece together what Morrell wasn’t saying. “So you think I’d be seeing him if I wasn’t going out of my way?”

Ms. Morrell looked at him cynically. “Stiles,” she exhaled. “I think you are over thinking this. I just don’t want to see you getting caught up in this again.”

And Stiles couldn’t help but think he’d be okay with caught up again. In fact, that’s almost exactly what he wanted. 

 

The next night, Stiles lie at home further realizing that everything about his life revolved around Scott’s little werewolf issue. Scott was off bowling with the Beacon Hills High School elite and Stiles was left alone again. 

After a couple hours of internet nonsense, he stumbled downstairs. He promised his dad he’d have dinner waiting and he only had an hour till the Sheriff came home. He looked through the pantry and fridge for anything that would suffice but he had been absent from weekly grocery shopping and it showed too clearly when all Stiles could find were TV dinners and ancient soup cans. He gave an angry sigh and grabbed his keys, heading to the corner grocery store. 

Stiles was checking out when it happened. He put his 10 items or less on the conveyor belt and moved up, checking his phone to see if Scott had gotten home yet. Surprise. He hadn’t. 

“How are you tonight?” said the cashier.

“Pretty horrible,” Stiles said without thinking. He looked up and nearly dropped his phone. 

The cashier wasn’t Derek. No. God no. Like that would happen in even in the farthest parallel universe. But he had the couple inches on Stiles. He had the pale green eyes. He had the dark tousled hair. He had the sharp jawline that you could cut yourself on. 

He wasn’t an exact match. He could only have been about 19, maybe 20. He looked almost like Stiles had imagined high school Derek would look. A bit lankier than the current one, but still in shape. Skin a bit deeper from being outside. 

And his face itself was hard to match because it wasn’t angry or solemn or hurt. It was a bit amused looking. A delicate smile in his eyes and one corner of his mouth a little higher than the other.

Stiles rushed to correct himself. “I mean. No. Not. Not that bad.”

A Derek’s look-a-like gave a chuckle as he scanned the items, quickly. A chuckle. Not a sarcastic one but a real one. “I’m not convinced,” he shook his head. “What’s so bad?”

Stiles felt his stomach churn. “Just,” he didn’t know where to start. “Best friend got a new girlfriend and is temporarily forgetting my existence.”

Almost Derek shrugged. “I don’t think anyone could forget your face easily,” he said.

Stiles bit his lip as his mind raced to actual Derek. Or rather imaginary Derek. God, how many of them were there? “You’d be surprised,” he said too seriously.

Almost Derek went on to bag the groceries. “10.39.”

“What?” Stiles asked before realizing it was the amount due. He struggled to quickly pull his cash out of his pocket. “Oh. No. Sorry. Just excuse everything I do.” 

The cashier laughed again. “No, you’re fine,” he waved Stiles away as he took his cash and entered it into the machine. 

Stiles watched him closely, looking for more hints of Derek tucked within him. The drawer opened and the cashier collected the change before looking up to Stiles.

“Thank you,” Stiles said sincerely.

“No problem,” Almost Derek smiled and handed him his bag of groceries. “And I go on break in five.”

Stiles almost dropped everything again. “What?”

Almost Derek raised his eyebrows. “I go on break in five minutes. You can meet me at the side of the building …if you need someone to talk to or something.” He looked hopeful and curious and the fluorescent lighting further paled the green in his eyes. 

Stiles felt every hair stand up on edge. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I mean yes. I mean… I’ll wait for you.” 

An older women behind Stiles started unloading an inordinate amount of cat food onto the conveyor belt and Stiles hurried to take his bag. He rushed towards the door and kept walking. Kept walking out the store and around the corner to the side of the building where an alleyway lie between the strip mall mega marts. It was dark and wet and smelled like employee smoke breaks and had a few overturned milk crates that confirmed that. Stiles dropped his bag on the ground and paced, rubbing his hands through his hair.

“What the fuck are you doing, Stiles?” he whispered to himself. “Holy shit. What are you doing?” He felt like crying. “Go home,” he told himself. But part of him would not move. This part of him that just needed something. Someone. The part that wanted Derek back so bad it physically hurt. The part Stiles had been trying to repress for so long and now it was just over taking everything including his decision-making skills. 

Five minutes felt like 30 seconds and Almost Derek rounded the corner. He didn’t have his work shirt on anymore and had exchanged it for a light gray t-shirt. 

Stiles tried to find his voice. “I-I’m Stiles,” he stuttered out. “What can I call you?”

Almost Derek’s smile was visible still through the darkness. But it wasn’t the same one from the store. It was so much darker and more sinister and clearly didn’t want to talk. “You can call me anything you want,” he spoke and his voice vibrated through Stiles. He stepped close and his hands wrapped around Stiles’ sides.

Through the darkness, Stiles could still make out the majority of his features. And he was close. Close enough to be Derek’s ghost. And Stiles was trying to decide if he loved this or hated this when Almost Derek kissed him. 

Stiles kissed back too. And it was like his brain had just turned off abruptly. Power outage through the central system. His mind wasn’t reeling. His hands weren’t shaking. His stomach lay low and calm. He was only aware of how his lips and hands were moving against the boy and how the quiet of the alley was about to swallow him whole. 

Stiles hands wrapped around the boy’s shoulders and his eyes closed tight. His brain was limp except for the fuzzy visual of Derek against him instead of the look-a-like. 

Almost Derek’s mouth moved to Stiles’ neck. Stiles caught his breath, his eyes still closed and his imagination still trying to fill the gaps of reality. This continued for a bit, the stranger’s teeth grating against Stiles’ collar, fiercely. Stiles was beginning to get the hang of believing this was Derek until a distant car alarm fired off and caused Stiles’ eyes to shoot open.

And once he had opened his eyes, his delusion evaporated. He realized how cold the stranger’s hands were and how he smelled nothing like the real thing and how everything about this was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Stiles’ pushed Almost Derek’s shoulders hastily. 

The impersonator took a couple steps back, his eyes blinking open and his expression quickly turning sour. “What are you doing?”

And Stiles couldn’t answer because he had no idea. He gave Almost Derek another once over. Noticing that his nose was too narrow and his hips were too wide and his eyes were so much duller from this angle. Everything about him was wrong.

Stiles turned, grabbed his grocery bag and ran. Trying to hold off crying until he got in his jeep. 

 

When Stiles got home, his dad’s patrol car was already in the driveway. Stiles got inside, his head throbbing and his sleeves damp with tears, to see his dad already sitting at the dining room table with a tv dinner in front of him. He was looking over files, as usual.

“Stiles?” he asked craning his neck towards the entrance. 

“Yeah, Dad. Just me,” his voice sounded somber and pathetic in his own ears.

“Where have you been?” the Sheriff said, looking at his watch.

“Um,” that was a question. “I was at the store. Getting dinner stuff but… you already took care of that, I can see.”

His dad looked down at his meal before letting his shoulders slump. “Oh I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot. I just-“

“No, dad,” Stiles waved away. “It’s fine. We’ll do it another night.”

The Sheriff was about to respond when the phone rang in the kitchen. The both looked at each other. 

“No listening in this time,” his father said seriously.

“Dad. Who do you think I am?” Stiles shrugged.

“I mean it,” he affirmed before going to answer the phone.

Stile waited till he was out of the room, running to the living room and picking up the cordless phone on the side table. He ran up to his room and shut the door before listening in.

“-at the hospital now, John. It’s the victim,” said a frantic Ms. McCall.

“What happened to him?” Stiles’ father pushed.

“We tried the best we could, but he was already under too much stress from the injuries. He just gave out on us,” Ms. McCall rushed.

“Melissa. What happened?”

“He succumbed to his wounds,” she said simply.

The Sheriff gave a long sigh into the phone. “I’ll be down there in ten minutes. Just stay calm. This is in our hands now.”

Stiles’ hands shook as he ended the call. He heard his dad’s heavy footsteps on the stairs before there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” Stiles said as he hid the phone under his bed.

His father opened the door with worry deep between his furrowed brows. “Stiles,” he started.

“No, I know. You have to go. It’s fine,” he reassured.

His dad nodded. “I’ll be home when I can, but don’t expect me.”

“Of course,” Stiles forced a small smile. 

 

Stiles went and told Scott. Because he had to. Because even if everything with Derek and all of Derek’s versions were wrong, his friendship was one thing that couldn’t be sacrificed. He knew that when Derek was forever out of his life, Scott would still be there. And Stiles would still need him. So he went and told Scott. About the call from the hospital and the death of the bus driver. Scott just stared back, completely horrified, thinking that this was his fault and Derek’s fault and that he was partially responsible for the death. 

Stiles was shocked too but not in the same way. Not so extroverted. Not so aggressive. It was slower. It was like this extra weight he carried on his shoulders. No one could see it, but Stiles felt it with every step. It was just further evidence that Derek was a killer. Further evidence that everything that kept Stiles going was a lie.

It wasn’t till later that Stiles felt compelled to go over there. To Derek’s house. That same feeling he had last time. That he had to see him and talk to him and reprimand him but not knowing much else. His jeep rolled easy down the paths that had become so familiar. 

He closed the car door with the appropriate amount of force this time and staggered up the steps, lethargically. When he came in, Derek was coming down the stairs. His feet paused at the sound of the door opening. He looked at Stiles with an unsure look in his eyes. Like he didn’t know why he was here this time. That made two of them.

“Did you do it?” Stiles asked with no emotion. “Did you kill the bus driver?”

“What’s on your neck?” Derek responded. His tone was flat.

Stiles’ hand shot up to his collar where he could still feel the burn of the cashier’s teeth on his flesh. He hiked the hood of his jacket against it. “Did you kill the bus driver?”

Derek’s eyes fluttered and a discernible wince moved through him. The condensation of his breath trembled in the air. “No,” Derek said.

Stiles was surprised by the straight answer. So he pressed on. “Did you kill your sister?”

Derek’s lips thinned. “No,” he repeated.

Stiles’ head felt light. He dragged himself to the living room, finding a dusty chair to fall into. 

Derek jumped down the stairs and came over. Crossing his arms across his chest and facing Stiles.

Stiles blinked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Derek sighed. “It wasn’t my information to tell. Scott needed to know before you did. And I needed to let him find it out on his own time, his own way.” 

“Why him? Why did he have to know first?” Stiles shook his head, not understanding.

“Because he’s my brother. He’s the one I need,” Derek answered with a shrug.

“Right,” Stiles sighed, understanding all too clearly. “Of course. Sorry.”

Derek began to pace, a pensive look on his features. “I would have told you, Stiles. But it just wasn’t…” he struggled to find the right word.

“It just wasn’t a priority,” Stiles finished for him. “I understand.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Derek shook his head. 

“Than how do you want me to say it?”

Derek kept pacing and rubbed a hand behind his neck, frustrated. “It didn’t have anything to do with you being human. Or being Stiles, for that matter. It had everything to do with you not being Scott.”

Stiles shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “It’s fine. It was just…”

Derek looked up at him. Waiting for him to finish.

Stiles swallowed. “It was really hard to think you were a killer. When I wanted to trust you.”

Derek looked away, nodding. “I know.”

Stiles rubbed his face in his hands. “So is that all you weren’t telling me?”

Derek took the seat across from him and nodded. “Looks like you are back to being the resident Derek Hale expert. For the time being.”

Stiles tried to stop the corner of his mouth from raising. “I guess I am.”

And they sat like that for a while. Trying their hardest to get comfortable in each other’s presence. With every word Stiles withheld, he felt something in his chest stirring. Or maybe restirring. 

Sometimes Stiles swore it was like being with a real dog. Never knowing if you about to get bit or if they were going to sniff and nuzzle your hand. And though Stiles knew he wasn’t at either of these extremes, being in the middle felt right. Yes, that deep down part of Stiles still wanted Derek’s touch and his smell and his heat, but the other was happy enough basking in Derek’s presence, knowing he wasn’t a killer or a tyrant. Knowing he was closer to the old Derek than Stiles had thought all along. That alone was like the warmest blanket on the coldest night and he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

 

A few days went by and Stiles lived comfortably. He functioned normally. He took his medication on schedule. Knowing that Derek wasn’t a killer was that load off his shoulders. He felt like he was walking on air. It wasn’t exactly validation that anything was different. He still had little hope for his future with Derek. Still had little to no proof that anything was fated or meant to be. But he was almost beginning to accept that. Because validation that Derek was much like the old one was all he felt like he needed for the time being. It was reassurance enough.

But Stiles kept his distance because Scott hadn’t been concerning himself with recreational werewolfing and all the lines were quiet when it came to the recent killings. The Sheriff was starting to think the whole incident was behind them. Stiles was too. But of course, something gave.

This time it was a pale, shivering Derek Hale in the school parking lot, obstructing Stiles’, and incidentally everyone else’s’, way home. Ironically getting in _his_ way. Derek fell backwards onto the pavement, eyes flashing electric blue. Stiles felt all this adrenaline move through him and make his heart quake within his chest. He got out of the car, a concerned look painting his face. Scott was the one to come to the rescue. Derek mumbled of being shot and unable to heal. Scott helped him into Stiles’ jeep and Stiles’ drove off in a hurry.

“What’s wrong with you?” Stiles yelled when they were a safe distance down the road. “Why do you look half dead?” And Derek really did. The sight of him was making Stiles uneasy. More uneasy than it normally did. Stiles feigned a sardonic attitude, compensating for the lack of composure that hid beneath. 

Derek winced in the passenger seat, obviously in pain. “Well, I’ve been shot with bullet that’s trying to kill me. How do you expect me to look?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. Seeing his point but not admitting it. “I don’t exactly appreciate you high jacking my car for your pack purposes. I’m not you and Scott’s yes man.”

“Of course,” Derek choked out. “That would require saying only one word responses. Which is impossible for you.”

“Ha,” Stiles replied with a sneer as he tried to text Scott about this damn bullet.

When a text back confirmed absolutely nothing, Stiles threw down the phone in annoyance. He looked over to a miserable looking Derek. “Hey,” he said, his voice thick with attitude. “Try not to bleed out on my seats. Okay? We’re almost there.”

Derek looked semi-unconscious which made bullying him a lot easier. “Almost where?” he murmured out. 

Stiles sighed. “Your house?”

Derek looked up immediately. “What? No. You can’t take me there.”

Stiles’ shoulders went up in mocking disbelief. “I can’t take you to your own house?”

“Not when I can’t protect myself,” Derek said matter-of-factly.

Stiles had heard enough. He shifted gears quickly and rolled to the side of the road before pulling into park. He faced Derek dead on. “What happens if Scott doesn’t find your little magic bullet?” Stiles asked hastily. He looked into Derek’s exhausted eyes and spit it out. “Are you dying?” Because that was the question he had wanted to ask the whole time but had been to scared to approach. But now the reality of this was tumbling out of him. Prodded by fear. Fear that Derek wouldn’t make it through this. And then what would Stiles have?

Derek shook his head. “Not yet,” he panted. “I have a last resort.”

Stiles’ head reeled. “What do you mean?” he shouted. “What last resort?”

Derek didn’t answer. He only pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, letting the wound see air. Stiles saw it once before closing his eyes against the image. “Oh my god. What is that?” he let out. He tried to hold his breath against the smell of Derek’s blood circulating around the cabin. “Is that contagious?” He ran a hand through his short hair. “You know what? You should probably just get out,” he said.

“Start the car,” Derek ordered, breathily. “Now.”

Stiles shook his head, perplexed. “Yeah. I don’t think you should be barking orders with the way you look,” he reasoned. “In fact,” he started. “I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the road and leave you for dead.” Stiles’ head gave a pound as if to tell him that he was lying. Which he already knew. He didn’t exactly need the physical response to tell him.

“Start the car,” Derek ordered again. “Or I’m gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth.” He stared Stiles down for a long moment.

Stiles’ shoulders dropped and he clicked his tongue, obnoxiously before following Derek’s orders. Because as much as he wanted to pretend he knew what he was doing, he trusted Derek’s word over his own blurry logic at this moment. And for the record, it was only blurry because an injured Derek Hale was in his car, breathing his air. “This doesn’t mean you’re right,” Stiles felt the need to tell him. “It just means I don’t exactly wanna argue with an injured werewolf.” 

“You not wanting to argue?” Derek raised his eyebrows. “That’s a first.”

“And a last,” Stiles noted before pulling onto the road.

 

Hours went by of them doing nothing at all. Of Stiles driving around before pulling into an empty parking spot and counting the cars that went by to pass time. 

“What the hell is going on?” Stiles muttered to himself.

Derek gave out a shaky breath that drew all of Stiles’ attention back to the passenger seat. The man was even paler now, stark white, and his shoulders shook in fever. His body was trying so hard to heal but it just wasn’t working.

Without much thought, Stiles reached a hand out and put it on Derek’s shoulder. Though the thin shirt, Stiles could feel Derek’s skin damp with sweat. Derek looked up at him, his eyes clearly fearful of everything.

Stiles couldn’t explain what it was like to touch Derek. Just like this. The same way he did when he spent all those nights trying to run his fingers through an elusive form without any luck. Now he could feel all the solidness and heat and how it dragged beneath his fingers. Everything he yearned for before. Sure, it wasn’t the same. Not the same conditions. Not the same Derek. Sometimes he even thought it wasn’t the same Stiles. That he’d grown up too much in his short amount of time in the psych ward. That the young, naïve, innocent boy that went in was miles away from the one he who came out. But who was he to make that distinction. 

Derek’s eyes spoke volumes. Much like the other Derek, they compensated for his statuesque exterior. Sometimes his body language was so stiff, yet his eyes always made his message clear. In this moment, they spoke of fear. But not just fear of death. Fear of trust. Fear of putting your life into someone else’s hands. Scott and Stiles were the ones keeping him alive. And the irony didn’t escape Stiles. Because it wasn’t the first time he was the one keeping Derek alive.

Derek’s body was slowly shutting down and it was a valid truth. So why couldn’t Stiles shake the feeling that Derek couldn’t _possibly_ die? Maybe it was just habit from imaginary Derek. Maybe it was that same, consistent feeling that he’d feared this whole time. Derek wasn’t just becoming Stiles’ god. He already was. Always had been. And until this moment Stiles hadn’t realized it. It felt so sickly-sweet to understand that Derek was the only god he’d ever need. 

Derek’s mouth opened a little. The muscles in his throat tightened, wanting to speak. A sound began to move out of him, but he was instantly cut off by Stiles’ ringtone going off on the floor of the car.

“Shit,” Stiles cursed under his breath and took his hand off Derek, feeling the cool air rush forward to greet the open skin. He gave a flustered sigh and bent down, scraping the device off the floor before look at the caller ID. It was Scott. It was Derek’s lifeline. And whatever moment they had just had or were about to have or had always had, was gonna have to wait. 

Scott told Stiles to seek refuge at the veterinary clinic. Said he was trying his best. That he’d be there as soon as he could. And Stiles tried to ignore that “as soon as he could” didn’t necessarily translate to “in time to save Derek.”

Stiles easily found the key in the box behind the dumpster. Easily pulled up the door of the clinic, immediately being greeted by an onslaught of harsh barks from the direction of the dog enclosures across the hall. His phone rang and he rushed to pull it from his pocket.

“Does Nordic blue monkshood mean anything to you?” Stiles asked, turning to Derek.

The man clutched his arm tightly against him and in the fluorescent lights he looked even worse, sunken against dog food sacks. He looked up through heavy lidded eyes, “It’s a rare form of wolfs bane. He has to bring me the bullet.”

“Why?” Stiles asked, idly.

Derek closed his eyes and took a breath, looking more doubtful than he ever had. “Because I’m gonna die without it,” he looked up to Stiles.

Stiles just stared back for awhile. Not computing what he was saying. Yes, yes, Derek had been saying all night that he was dying, but it never had hit Stiles as hard as when he said it now. He told himself to calm down. “Just. Out of curiosity. What exactly is this last resort?”

Derek let his head lean against the wall and winced in pain. “That’s what you have to help me with.”

Stiles’ rolled his eyes and furrowed his brow in disdain. His automatic response to everything Derek said to him. “And if I don’t?” he challenged.

Derek shook his head and choked out a laugh. “Then you can sleep in that box with me.”

And that was it. Stiles felt his legs shake beneath him. “What?” he said, his voice sounding high. The barking of the dogs sounded so distant now.

Derek’s shoulders tensed hard along with his face. His mouth hung open slightly and he looked up slowly at Stiles. His eyes said it all. This deep look of immediate regret. Of instantaneous shame. 

Stiles gave a hasty sigh. “You knew all along, didn’t you?” Because it had just come together. More like crashed. There weren’t two Dereks. There never had been. It had always been him.

“Stiles,” Derek nearly whimpered out.

“No,” Stiles shook his head, hating how everything was adding up. “Why…why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was weak in his throat.

Derek put a hand against the wall, not so gracefully pushing himself to his feet. “We can’t do this _now_ , Stiles. Come on.” And he moved towards the doors to the exam room. 

Stiles closed his eyes. “You heard what he said,” he mumbled to himself. They couldn’t do this now. Not when Derek’s life was on the line. He tried his best to reason. To push back all the anger that he was so quick to feel. He rushed over to the double doors and pushed them open for Derek, who leaned onto him for support at the first opportunity. “Okay, okay,” Stiles said, shaking him off. Because he couldn’t having Derek touching him right now. Not in this moment.

 

The show went on. Scott saved the day. Just like it was meant to be. Just the way the story line was suppose to play out. Because as Stiles lived and breathed, he was never the main plot line. He was always the sub story. And no matter the climaxes he hit, there was always something superimposed and more important and more known. So he didn’t expect the tides to change after Derek’s secret had been spilled. He didn’t expect pigs to fly or storm clouds to pour. He just kept on doing his part. And that was all he could do. 

He returned home after Derek and Scott had whisked themselves away to some place else. Further unraveled a mystery that barely interested Stiles at the moment. He walked the steps lifelessly. He crashed onto his bed in his dark room. He wished he didn’t know the truth. That Derek had cheated him this whole time.

It was that familiar pain from the days in the hospital. The one that painted every frame of thought and vision. Because Stiles had thought he was so aware this whole time. Thought he was the one with all the information and all the secrets. He couldn’t have been more wrong. Derek had hidden this from him since the moment they met. Knowing fully everything that meant. Knowing how much Stiles needed him. Knowing the pain he’d endured through their times together and apart. And Derek had done nothing. Nothing.

Sometime, while deep in thought, Stiles swore he heard something outside. He got up and everything was stiff. He began to wonder how long he was laying down. He made his way downstairs, opening the front door and peaking outside. Nothing. It was nothing. He sighed and made his way back upstairs, pushing the door of his room open. He almost screamed when he saw a black silhouette in his window, jumping back a couple steps. He grappled for the lights until they flicked on and Derek was standing in his room, looking back at him distantly.

Stiles shoulders’ dropped and he came in, shutting the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” Stiles sighed out, already exhausted. 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ desk chair and took a seat. “We have to talk,” he said.

Stiles didn’t want to do this now. As a matter of fact, he never wanted to this. He just wanted to fade into a place where he could forget any of this ever happened. Where he wouldn’t die of embarrassment and regret and hate. So much hate. 

Stiles shrugged. “About what?”

Derek shook his head. “Don’t act stupid, Stiles.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not acting stupid. I’m acting oblivious. You know. Like you have for the past couple weeks?”

Derek huffed. “Stiles.”

“What?” Stiles leaned against the wall as obnoxiously as possible. “Don’t _‘Stiles’_ me. You knew what you were walking into when you crawled up here.”

“Would it kill you to be mature for one second?” Derek spat. 

Stiles opened his mouth with response ready, before closing it. Giving Derek his most sarcastic eyes as if telling him to go on.

“I just wanted to…,” Derek tried to find the words. “Acknowledge… that I’m… me.”

Stiles gawked. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he shook his head. “That’s the best you can do?”

Derek glared up at him. “You _know_ I’m no good at this.”

Stiles let out a shaky breath because he did know. “You did say it once,” he whispered. “When I couldn’t touch you. You said sorry.”

Derek’s eyes fell to the floor. “It’s a lot easier to say when you’re not real.”

“You mean I’m not real or you?”

“Both,” Derek said.

Stiles gulped. Knowing that exact feeling too well. “Could you just tell me what happened?” he said softly.

Derek sighed. “I don’t even know. It must have been the Alpha. Older pack members have this …power over Betas. They can control their minds almost. Their dreams.”

“Like Scott and the bus,” Stiles said aloud.

Derek nodded. “Yeah. But this was so much deeper than that. I mean you saw it. I was there. Not 100% but enough.”

“Not enough,” Stiles murmured, disagreeing.

Derek sat silent for a moment. “He was trying to draw me and my sister in. Trying to give us a reason to come back to Beacon Hills.”

“So Laura had them too? The dreams?” Stiles looked up at him.

“She was the Alpha. His tricks didn’t work on her. She was too strong,” he said. “But I told her about them. Told her I wanted to go to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles’ mouth hung open in surprise. He didn’t speak.

“But she said it was a bad idea. A trap. She decided to go by herself. She was going to talk to a specialist about it. She saw them, sent me back some pills to keep the dreams at bay, and said she was gonna stay a little longer to investigate,” Derek looked into his hands. “And that’s the last I heard of her.”

“Pills?” Stiles questioned.

“Some kind of special sedative. The specialist said they’d stop the astral projections. I don’t even know who he was. Some guy that our family was in contact with here in Beacon Hills.”

“And you took them?” Stiles stepped closer.

“Not immediately. I didn’t want to. Laura kept telling me the dreams were dangerous. That there was nothing in Beacon Hills worth getting invested in. …I didn’t agree. When she stopped replying, I started taking them. And I came here to find her.”

Stiles sank down onto his bed, staring up at Derek who continued to look away.

“I didn’t expect to find you or Scott or anything really. Certainly not my sister in pieces. I just wanted to get in and out as soon as possible and avoid seeing you. I knew how bad that would be. But then I did, the first week I was here. And suddenly you were being thrown into every situation I walked into. I never planned to come face to face with you. That’s why I never said anything. Because I didn’t know what to say or do and I still don’t.”

“You didn’t have to know,” Stiles shook his head. “You just had to tell me. It could have been okay.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek finally looked up. “You don’t get it. You _still_ don’t get it.”

“What am I suppose to be getting?” Stiles sat back.

“I wasn’t just doing it because of me. I was doing it for you too,” Derek paused, looking at Stiles fiercely. “When I told you goodbye at the hospital, I explained. You told me I was killing you. Do you really think that was my intention?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course not.” He tried to think. “I was rash and going out of my mind. Why did you take anything I said seriously?”

“Because I cared about you,” Derek seethed.

Stiles paused. Half of him filling with admiration and the other disgust. Like always, the more theatrical of the two made it out first. “Yeah, well leaving me alone in a psych ward was a great way of showing it,” he spat out.

Derek looked back at him. His eyes visibly changing from sincere care to disbelief. “You’re really gonna do that aren’t you?”

Stiles sat up. “Do what?”

Derek coughed out a sarcastic laugh. “Pretend you were the only one hurting.”

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek. “All I’m saying is that it didn’t seem that hard for you to leave me, _continuously. And_ it sure didn’t seem hard for you to never tell me the truth even when you had every opportunity to.”

Derek stood up over Stiles, shouting, “And I said I’m sorry, Stiles! What more do you want me to say?”

Stiles stood too. “I’m not sure there is much more.”

Derek’s shoulders lowered and his expression smoothed over. “Than I’ve said all I can. Ball’s in your court.” And he walked out of Stiles’ door.

Stiles sank onto his bed, hearing the quick footsteps down the stairs. The slam of the front door. All the while, he was telling himself to speak out. To bring Derek back. To do something. But he didn’t. He just sat and sat. 

 

Stiles didn’t know if it was him or Derek who should feel guilty. Though there was part of him that was so eager to blame this all on Derek and his dishonesty and his always leaving, there was also a large part… a deep and sad part that blamed himself. So he was trying to put it out of his mind. He kept to himself. Tried not to think about how immature he was. How immature he always was. Ever since the beginning of this. He never backed down from his opinions. And it was causing nothing but disarray. 

If he ever thought that he was changed, he knew now that he was exactly the same as he’d always been. Rebellious against anyone who questioned him or blamed him, quick to anger, quick to insult those close to him without thinking, stubborn as hell. Smart but clouded by emotion. Easily trusting even those he shouldn’t but scorning anyone who even thought about turning their backs.

The tally list of what he hated most about himself built up in the back of his mind. The consistent winner seemed to be unwilling to make peace at any cost. Thinking that patching things up admits defeat and shows cowardice. How many times he wished he had the guts to go over to Derek’s and apologize and never once did he move from his usual rotated locations. School, home, grocery store. Always apprehensively sneaking away from Almost Derek’s check out line. So he just about gave up. Deciding that if he couldn’t escape, he would pretend he was leading a life that he loved.

Scott’s werewolf schedule prattled on with random practice sessions with Derek. Scott spoke of them often. More often than Stiles was willing to admit he could handle. But Scott remained oblivious to the sub plot and Stiles intended to keep it that way. Scott described surprise attacks by Derek who, as he described, was considerably more bad-tempered than usual. And Stiles had to pretend like he had no idea why. 

Stiles tried to busy himself with research. The new storm of “mountain lion” attacks was allowing him private access into his father’s files which scattered themselves across the dining room table even when the Sheriff wasn’t home. But the same files kept leading to the same places. Hale family this. Derek that. It was like Stiles couldn’t escape him. He’d only investigate so far before he had to step away from it all.

And this only went on for so long before there was a breaking point. Because there always was. The Sheriff was off doing more research for the case. This time returning to Dr. Deaton’s office to ask more questions. As if Dr. Deaton ever gave straight answers. Stiles was laying on his bed going over more files that all lead to Derek ends and letting his fingers absentmindedly play with Scott’s inhaler. Stiles had kept it ever since that day in the woods. It was the first thing he ever saw Derek touch. It was what told him Derek was real. And he couldn’t let go of that feeling.

He heard a knocking at his open window and turned suddenly, immediately dropping the inhaler and letting it roll on the floor. 

Derek sat in the window, shirtless and slightly sweaty. “Can I come in?” he said, trying to catch his breath and leading Stiles to believe he ran here.

Stiles froze, his fingers gripping to the papers he was sorting so tightly that they began to wrinkle. He let them go, shuffling them into a pile. He nodded in Derek’s general direction.

Derek stepped into the room without as much as a stumble and walked over to Stiles’ bedside.

The boy starred up at him with heavy eyes, his hands now useless. Looking at Derek after a couple days of realization had set in made everything so different. This was no longer just other Derek. This was actual Derek. The only Derek. The one he’d always loved. His god. Who’d seen him at rock bottom. Stiles tried to formulate words somewhere deep inside his brain but the urge to reach out was so blatant in his consciousness. Without warning, Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s torso and pulled him close. He held him as tight as he could.

Derek’s hips shifted, taking a seat on the bed before his arms responded, enclosing Stiles’ shoulders and letting the boy’s head fall against his chest. 

Stiles smelled the fresh sweat on his skin and felt all his warmth and strength. Better than he could have ever imagined. He felt the tears prick in his eyes and he tried to hold them back, but his body shook in sobs and soon they were spilling over onto Derek’s skin.

The werewolf didn’t pull back but instead held him tighter, rubbing a hand against the back of his shirt. “I’m right here,” he murmured into Stiles’ ear with as much emotion as Stiles imagined he could muster.

And that fact stood true. Derek _was_ here. And Stiles cried. It was a horrible mix of being irrevocably happy and incomprehensibly angry with himself. He tried to speak through his tears, “I’m s-s-sorry, Derek. I was so foolish,” he choked out.

“Shhh,” Derek soothed. “If anyone understands foolishness, its me.”

“I shouldn’t have let you leave, Derek,” Stiles murmurs out. “I should have never let you leave.”

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered. “I’m not leaving anymore. Like it or not.”

Stiles sniffed in response. “Why did you come?”

Derek gave a long sigh. “Because I saw someone from my past who reminded me that not everyone has the capacity to love. And those who can love shouldn’t let anything stop them. Especially not themselves,” Derek said with a small smile in his voice.

Stiles hummed. “You’re a lot smarter without your shirt on.”

Derek knocked him onto the bed, lightly. “Shut up,” he almost gave a snicker.

Stiles couldn’t fight his laugh when he looked back up to Derek. They both quieted their smiles after while and it was like they couldn’t stop staring. Everything that Derek was and everything he meant was so crystal clear to Stiles. It was this ultimate validation that he’d never been wrong, never about Derek. He’d always been real, always been good, and always been his. His expressive green eyes now spoke for themselves. They spoke of home. They knew they were home. 

Stiles took a deep breath, filling with all these emotions that couldn’t be explained or expressed. He felt like he found god because in so many ways he did. The only way Stiles could begin to formulate any of them was by pulling Derek in by the back of his neck until he was kissing him with everything he had. Moving against his mouth in a dance that was so natural, Stiles didn’t even have to try. And Derek’s hands ran around Stiles’ hips, fitting so perfectly like this was their destiny. This was exactly where they were supposed to be.

Stiles pulled Derek farther down till Stiles’ head was against his pillows. Derek moved over him smoothly, continuing to kiss him. In between their lips meeting, their shallow breaths exchanged and Derek murmured, “I wanted you so bad, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled against Derek’s scruffy face. “When?”

“Always,” Derek whispered back. “I loved you. Before you could even see me I loved you. And when you kept hurting yourself. When you kept making those decisions-”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Stiles ran his thumb over Derek’s lips. “It’s the past.”

Derek kissed at Stiles’ thumb before turning his head again and kissing at his mouth. “Now that I’m here, that’s never gonna happen. I’m gonna protect you. Nothing is gonna get you now.”

“I know,” Stiles nods. “You saved me. You’ll always be the one to save me.”

And they stayed like this for so long. Intertwined and making promises to each other and fitted so close that they could have sworn they were becoming one. They promised they’d fight their battles together from now on. They promised they’d protect each other no matter what. They promised they’d never be strangers again. They stayed like this for so long. Till the night had come and Derek had heard the Sheriff coming down the road towards their house. Derek had kissed Stiles long and gave the most sincere little smile Stiles had ever seen him make and didn’t take his eyes off Stiles until the slam of the front door awoke them both. Then he left out the window and for the first time Stiles was positive that this wasn’t the end of their story by a long shot. 

 

“You’re smiling, Stiles,” Morrell noted as she came into the office on Monday. “That’s different.”

And Stiles, in his chair, looked up in surprise as she sat down because he hadn’t noticed it either. “It is,” he shrugged.

“Why so happy?” she asked, pulling out her notepad.

Stiles stifled a laugh. “You make it sound like an accusation. Can’t I be happy?”

Ms. Morrell raised an eyebrow. “Of course, Stiles. I’m happy to see you happy. Now what. Is. Happening?”

“Well,” Stiles started, smiling again and looking down at his shoes. “Things just got better. A lot better.”

Morrell looked at him quizzically. “Derek?”

Stiles licked his lips. “Derek.”

Morrell nodded. “I see,” she said, putting the notepad onto her desk. “Well that’s… good?”

“Great,” Stiles corrected.

“Great,” Morrell smiled into her hands. “And Scott?”

“Unaware,” he replies. “He’ll know soon enough I suppose with him and Derek becoming better…” he tinkered for a word that didn’t give away the whole werewolf thing. “friends.”

Morrell nodded. “And what happens if they have a falling out?”

Stiles blinked, his expressions turning slightly sour. “Now why’d you have to go and make me think about that?”

Morrell shrugged with an evil smile. “Just asking.”

Stiles kicked his feet up against her desk, expecting her to protest. When she didn’t, he went on. “Well,” he started. “If Derek and Scott start… waging war on each other. I’ll have to side with Scott for while. But even if something happened, I doubt it would last long.”

Morrell’s lips pressed together. “Stiles,” she said seriously. “In this game, you can’t afford to take sides. There are going to be moments when no one is right, but you can’t let that control you. You may have to sacrifice the relationships with people around you to protect yourself. Above all, you need to work with Scott. He is your best ally and you need to trust him above all others.”

Stiles sat back, confused. “What game are you refer-“

“Stiles,” Morrell interrupted. “Just trust me on this. Please.”

Stiles waited a moment. Processing what she said. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll take it into account.”

“Now,” Morrell said with a bright smile and leaned forward on her elbows. “Give me the scoop on what happened with Derek.”

Stiles felt the smile pull at his lips at the mention of the name. He settled in his chair before opening his mouth and telling her everything.

 

And that was not so much how it ended, but instead how it began. Stiles had a purpose again. Had his feet on the ground again. Had his meds in the trash for good. This was the end of a dark time for Stiles. His sub plot was no longer an uphill battle, but solid ground. There were still challenges every day. Scott and Derek’s alliance was reaching new heights but was constantly being threatened at the same time. It made Stiles question Morrell’s advice daily, but he moved through it.

As days went by, as trust was slowly built, Stiles began to realize. Everything worked out. He had got the Derek he wished for. The one he could love. And almost instinctually, he was relishing it. Because somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that it wasn’t always going to be like this. What they had wasn’t always going to be so easy. They never had to say it, but they both knew. They knew that the forces were going try and keep them apart. But they also didn’t care.

They knew that as bad as things could get and would get in their future, it wasn’t going to be forever. The powers that had brought them together were fluctuating all the time. Someday, they knew, the seas would smooth, the storm clouds would scatter, and they’d be together. They didn’t know what was going happen in the immediate future, but they knew eventually, it would work out. And they just had to keep fighting for it. Because it was the realest thing they had.


End file.
